Don't leave
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Marik has messed up again, and pushed Bakura away. Now he finds himself alone, and he is starting to come to terms with exactly what he feels. Has he left it too late, though, or will Bakura come back for him? Thiefshipping AU oneshot with lots of fluff!


**Another fluffy thiefshipping oneshot, because I really cannot get enough. Call me a sap, call me ridiculous, but hey, I need it. ^_^ **

**This is also for FanGirl16, because I think we both need some fluff at the moment. And, although he's only mentioned in passing in this story, Yami Marik is called 'Kek', which is a name of Miss Macabre Grey's invention. Just so you all know who I'm talking about. XD**

**This oneshot is AU (Alternate Universe, NOT canon), and it's essentially me spewing my emotions at the page, and trying to make something of the mess that results, so it is probably a bit of a wreck. Anyway, if you like fluffy thiefshipping (with a bit of angst, for good measure), then this should work for you. I hope you enjoy! - Jem**

The door slammed shut, and Marik slid down onto the floor. His arms clutched at his opposite shoulders, his back hit the wall, and he curled himself up into a corner with his knees drawn tightly into his chest. In that moment, all he wanted was to be as small as he possibly could – he couldn't deal with this, it was all too much, he couldn't take it, because he'd just let him walk out of the door and now he was never coming back, and it was _too late,_ he'd realised _far too late,_ as always...

Story of his damn life.

Marik felt the cold tracks of tears mark his cheeks, his muscles clenching and unclenching as he shivered tightly against the wall. His hands were tight fists against his shoulders, nails digging into his flimsy clothing as he juddered and wriggled and tried to forget. The memories wouldn't let him, of course; no, he would not get off that lightly. His head was swimming with emotions that he didn't know how to handle, his body twitching as he was racked with shudders and shivers he didn't understand. Something was happening to him, something big, and he didn't know how to deal with it. He just wanted to run.

Run. Running was what he always did when he met trouble; it didn't matter what kind. Marik had never faced up to his problems before, because he had never had to – someone else had always been there to step in and save him. When he was a child, it had been Odion. As he grew, it had been Kek. More recently, it had been ... but even thinking about him sent new shivers down Marik's spine, because all he could see was him walking out of the door, mere moments ago. And it was all Marik's fault. Was it any wonder that Marik wanted to run?

But there was nowhere for him to run to, now.

Marik moved his arms down so they were clutching his knees, burying his head deep in his bare skin and trying to stifle his sobs. He couldn't really believe he was crying. Marik hadn't cried since his tenth birthday, when everything had exploded as the skin was ripped from his back – ever since then, nothing had seemed to equal that in either pain or intensity. Not enough to make his eyes leak, anyway. Bakura, it would seem, was the exception.

Bakura.

The name seemed to crumple in Marik's mouth; he pursed his lips, trying to force the sounds out, but they stuck in the back of his throat, the syllables slowly collapsing and burning the inside of his cheeks. His lips quivered. Marik curled himself tighter and began to rock, his back thwacking against the wall and causing added shivers to his already quaking body. Marik held himself tighter and stroked his arms with his thumbs, trying to imagine different hands holding him, pale fingers on his tan skin, a brown gaze trained on his violet eyes. Marik sniffed as he tried to stave off the images, not wanting to remember, not wanting to know ... Because Bakura had gone, for the last time now. Marik had successfully pushed him away, and now he was alone. As he had wanted to be.

So why did it hurt so much?

The only thing Marik had ever done was push Bakura away. The two had met completely by chance, three years ago; Marik had stormed out of his house after yet another fight with Ishizu, running into the first cafe he had found and ordering the first thing on the menu. He had been so wrapped up in his own emotions that he hadn't even noticed the pale man in the corner who had fixed him with a piercing brown gaze. The memories were threatening again, swarming his skull, leaving Marik with no choice. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to remember.

_"What's a scrawny little thing like you doing alone in a cafe at this time?"_

_"What's it to you, asshole?"_

_"My, my, someone's in a bad mood. I haven't even had a chance to be offensive yet, and you're already biting my head off."_

_"...Sorry. I ... um ... bad day."_

_Bakura had merely nodded, sliding without a word into the seat opposite him. Marik had glared at him, but Bakura refused to leave. Bakura always refused to leave._

_"So," He had spoken, his voice deep and raspy and resonating somewhere new within Marik's chest. "What is it that has made your day so bad?"_

_Marik's eyes had slid shut, but a cold touch on his fingers had forced his lids open again. Bakura was looking at him, and it was a look that he really couldn't escape; those deep brown eyes could trap him anywhere, he would later discover. Marik had spoken, slowly, reluctantly, his voice catching in his throat. "I don't think you really want to know."_

_"If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't have asked you," Bakura had remonstrated._

_Marik had sent him a questioning glance, and Bakura's gaze turned sardonic. "Come on. I'm a total stranger. Why not tell me your deepest darkest secrets?"_

_Marik had released a low chuckle at that, and then the words had come spilling out. Bakura had listened with a calm intensity that Marik soon learned was a characteristic of his, and when Marik had finished and sat tired in the chair, Bakura had risen fluidly, taken his arm, and pulled him out of the cafe and back to his house. Marik had entered and spoken to Ishizu, and she had been surprised by how calm he had been. After that, Marik had held little hope that the pale stranger had waited for him, but he still couldn't resist peeking out of his bedroom window that night. To his surprise, Bakura was standing across the street, his arms crossed in front of him and a sardonic smirk on his lips. Marik had moved without thinking, heading straight out of the front door. Bakura's smirk had widened at the sight of him. "Rather rude of you, you know, to leave without even thanking me."_

_Marik had felt a grin tug at the corners of his own mouth. "Well, you seemed pretty intent on giving me back to my family."_

_"I try," Bakura had responded arrogantly, earning a laugh from Marik, and from that day on they had been pretty much inseparable._

Not any more though, Marik found himself thinking. The sound of the door slamming, with Bakura walking out of the other side of it, rang constantly through his ears. After Bakura and he had first met, it felt like whenever Marik had a problem he could run to the pale, suave man, and he would somehow make it better. He had a clear cool head and a knack for patience; the complete opposite to Marik, really, who had always had a hot temper and a short fuse. It was eight months or so after they first met that Marik had to suffer through a birthday, and rather than spend it with the sympathetic looks and pitying glances of his family, Marik had run out of the door and straight to Bakura. The man had listened to his story with impassive eyes; if he was shocked by the tale of abuse, he didn't show it. He had asked to see Marik's back, but was accepting when the Egyptian said he wasn't ready. Instead, Bakura had hugged him, and Marik didn't think he had ever felt safer.

For a while, everything was perfect. Bakura would spend a lot of time with him, and Marik was always glad of his presence; he had more fun around Bakura than he had with anyone else, and he had confessed his deepest, darkest secrets to the pale man, just as he had first joked about in the cafe. The pair watched films, ate out, and went on walks, and wherever they went they always talked. Bakura's body language was always sardonic, his tone often biting, but he never failed to listen when Marik needed a hand. Marik had begun to rely on him, more so than his own family. But then came that night.

It had only been a few weeks ago that Marik felt his world shift. He had gone round to Bakura's apartment, as he often did, and they had watched a film, again a normal activity. But then they had been talking, and Bakura had moved, and he had crossed a line. He had kissed Marik. And Marik had run.

_Well was it any wonder?_ Marik thought bitterly, remembering the moment with a frown furrowing his brows. _He just sprang it on me out of nowhere!_ He tried to remember Bakura's exact words, exactly what had led to that moment ... had Marik led him on at all?

_The closing credits rolled through the screen and Marik had released a yawn, stretching up in the air from his position sagged against Bakura's shoulder. The pale one had chuckled, deep in his throat. "Someone sounds tired."_

_"It's been a long day," Was Marik's flippant response, his cheek once again pressed firmly against the cloth of Bakura's t-shirt._

_Bakura had been unusually quiet – Marik remembered that much. The Egyptian had stayed for a few moments longer before sitting up, a second yawn stretching his mouth wide as he turned to face Bakura. Those brown eyes had been staring at him. Marik lifted an eyebrow. "Something the matter?"_

_Bakura hadn't even said anything; just leaned in and kissed him._

_Marik froze. He couldn't comprehend what was happening right in front of him, or how his pale friend had suddenly got so _close. _Bakura's lips were rough on his, his hands resting on Marik's shoulders – it had only lasted a second, and he had pulled away, edging quickly back to the other end of the sofa. Marik had remained in place the whole time, stiff and unmoving as he stared at the other. Bakura hadn't even looked at him when he spoke. "You should probably go."_

_Marik's brain stumbled to catch up, failing to draw the connection between Bakura's words and his actions. "Wh-what? But you just ... you kissed me!"_

_Bakura had flinched at those words. Or maybe it was Marik's tone, shocked and defiant, that had made Bakura recoil. Either way, his brown eyes had hardened as they fixed on Marik's violet gaze. "Yes, I kissed you. Now I'm asking you to leave. What of it?"_

_"But you...!" Marik was at a complete loss for words. "Where the hell did that even come from?"_

_"Nowhere," Bakura had been quick to respond. "It was nothing. You should go now."_

_"Hell no!" Marik could feel his world shifting, the foundations he had built so firmly slipping away from under his feet. He was spiralling out of control, and this time there was no one there to run to, because Bakura was the one who had caused this. This was all Bakura's fault._

_Marik refused to leave without some answers. "Bakura! Why the hell did you even do that? What has got into you?!"_

_"What's got _into me?"_ Bakura had snapped. "Nothing! I'm the same person, Marik. You're the one who's freaking out."_

_"Because you just kissed me!" Marik glared. "I need an explanation as to why you thought you would royally screw up our friendship!"_

_Bakura had flinched again, edging further away. "Screw up our friendship? Really?"_

_"Well, of course!" Marik had to struggle not to burst into hysterical laughter. "You just kissed me!"_

_"You can't have not seen it coming."_

_That sentence had drawn Marik up short. He gaped silently for a long moment. "...Seen it coming? Bakura, that came completely out of nowhere! Why the hell would you do this? You've ruined everything!"_

_"So get out then," Bakura had snarled. "If I've really ruined everything, you had better get out. I'm sick of seeing your petulant little face. Get the hell out of my house."_

_And Marik had left without a backwards glance._

His head had been in turmoil, though, Marik realised now as his back rested firmly against the wall. He fisted his hands into his blonde hair, tugging desperately at the strands, because he wanted to feel _something._ Bakura had ruined everything with that one single kiss, because Marik's emotions had gone haywire and his brain had started to analyse. He had gone back over every single thing Bakura had ever said to him, trying to see a double meaning, wondering desperately just how far back Bakura's feelings had gone, because there was no doubt in Marik's mind that Bakura felt something for him. It had freaked him out completely, because he wasn't worth anyone's love.

"I was too broken for him, really," Marik whispered to the silent air. "I am too broken for him. I always was." Because, if he was completely honest with himself, Marik _had_ seen this coming. It was in Bakura's deep brown eyes, in his not-so-innocent touches, in his softened tone of voice whenever he spoke to Marik. The Egyptian had noticed these things, over the three years of their friendship, and honestly, he had treasured them. They were proof that someone cared; proof that if he were to die the next day, someone at least would miss him. His existence mattered to someone, and Marik had grasped that with both hands. He needed it, after everything.

But by taking it to the next level, Bakura had shattered Marik's carefully built walls. Everything he had worked for since he finally escaped Egypt, the life that he had created for himself, the person that he thought he was – all was shattered at Bakura's one simple gesture. Because a kiss meant so much more than that. A kiss meant that Bakura needed Marik.

Marik couldn't cope with that.

He wasn't reliable, and he never could be. He was a mess, a broken, tangled mess, and if Bakura needed him then Marik would crumble, because he found it hard enough to hold himself up without the added weight of another person. He thought Bakura had understood that. Apparently, he'd been wrong.

The words from earlier that evening, when Bakura had walked out of his life for good, were the last memories to come to Marik, and they were the ones that hurt the most.

_"What the hell do you want?"_

_Marik's first words to the pale one at the door were perhaps not best thought out. Bakura had sneered, which only added to his worry. "To talk to you, Marik – why else would I show up at your house? Are your siblings out?"_

_Marik had nodded once, reluctantly opening the door wide enough to allow Bakura to enter._

_They had merely stared at each other, eyes raking over the other's form; Marik had fidgeted uncomfortably under Bakura's stare._

_"I need to talk to you," Bakura had eventually spat. His voice was harsh, unforgiving, and exactly what Marik had feared it would be._

_Violet eyes glared at him. "Talk then. Before I kick you out."_

_Bakura had advanced, but Marik skittered away. Bakura growled before speaking. "I'm not going to jump you. I want to know why you freaked out so much."_

_"What do you mean, why I freaked out?" Marik snapped back. "You kissed me!"_

_Bakura rolled his eyes. "You make it sound like that's the worst possible action on the face of the earth."_

_"Well, it is!" Marik had shot back. "At least, from you it is!"_

_Bakura eyes had hardened at that, a barely visible wince creasing his body momentarily. A flutter of something foreign rose in Marik's chest, but he squashed it back down in favour of shouting some more. "I can't believe you did that to me! I was happy, Bakura! Then you had to go and ruin everything, and I want to know why!"_

_"You really think I ruined everything?" Bakura hissed, venom lacing his tone. "What, because I showed you affection? You can't lock yourself away forever, Marik! You can't run from everything, and you can't run from this!"_

_"Yes, I can!" Marik retorted, his voice rising. "I can, and I will, because I can't deal with this, Bakura! I can't deal with you, not anymore, not like that!"_

_"Oh, because you really have no feelings for me," Bakura had sneered. "You look me in the eyes and tell me you honestly don't feel anything, because I know for a fact that you do. When you fall asleep next to me on the sofa, when you tell me everything about you, and I listen and help you, and you accept my help. I know you have feelings, Marik, and you can't run away from those either."_

_Marik had floundered for a long moment, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. There was a part of him that instantly shunned Bakura's words, but then there was that whisper, that damned whisper, that rose to meet and respond to him – the tiniest part of Marik that believed Bakura, that had enjoyed the kiss, that wanted to go back to him right now, and feel safe once more in his arms..._

_Marik had quashed that whisper._

_"Don't you dare," He had hissed at Bakura. "Don't you dare presume to know what I'm feeling. The truth is, Bakura, I don't need you. I don't need you, I don't want you, and I certainly don't have any _feelings_ for you. I don't know where you got that idea from, and quite frankly I don't care, but you need to understand that I. Don't. Need. You."_

_The last few words had hung heavily in the air between them, and each syllable had sent Bakura reeling back a step. The pale one stared at him with a mixture of anger, hurt, and pity. It was only the anger that showed in his tone, though, as Bakura growled out his final words before he had slammed the door._

_"Good bloody job I didn't fall in love with you, then, you absolute twat. You won't be seeing me again, and by the sounds of it, you won't miss me at all. Goodbye, Marik, and good riddance."_

And now Marik found himself curled against the wall of his hallway, his back aching dully and his fists wrapped tightly in the strands of his blonde hair, body racked with emotions that he still didn't fully understand. All he knew was that the moment Bakura had walked out of the door, Marik had wanted him back. He wanted him back, he wanted those pale arms to surround him, those soft lips to brush his, and he wanted Bakura to love him. He wanted Bakura, _needed_ Bakura, so desperately that it frightened him. And now he was crumbling again, and there was nothing he could do.

All Marik wanted was not to be alone. He wanted someone, anyone, to walk through the door, pick him up, straighten him out and help set him back on his feet, because Marik wasn't sure he could do it on his own. Not anymore. Not now he needed Bakura. And it was ridiculous, really, because this whole time Marik had thought that Bakura needing him was what would make them crumble; in reality, it had been the other way around. Marik needed Bakura, but he hadn't been able to accept that, and now the whole thing had just blown up in his face. He was done.

_What if I had stopped him?_

The words came unbidden into Marik's paralysed mind, and the images they brought were painful and unwelcome. The idea that Marik could have caught Bakura's arm, could have explained everything, could have shared with him a little of the inner turmoil Marik was feeling ... would Bakura have understood? Helped, even? Could Bakura have fixed this mess, just like he fixed all the other problems in Marik's life?

Useless questions, now. He would never know the answers.

Marik allowed his hands to drop around his knees, keeping himself tightly curled into a ball and allowing the waves of emotion to rock his trembling form. He was only now beginning to come to terms with what he felt, only now able to piece together the fragments that showed him exactly what Bakura had come to mean to him. It could have been a beautiful picture, if Marik had not shattered it with his anger and confusion and uncontrolled reactions. Sometimes, you can't know who you want to be with until it is too late. Such was the case with Marik Ishtar. He had realised, far too late, that Bakura was the one he needed, and Bakura was the one he wanted. The horrific irony was, Marik only realised it as Bakura walked out of the door, when it was far too late to do anything about it. He had made his bed, and now he would have to lie in it, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do except sit in his corner and cry. Marik's eyes closed as the sobs returned.

A door opened.

Footsteps in the hall.

And then a cool touch on his wrist, long slender fingers wrapping around his arm, and suddenly Marik was enveloped with warmth.

He didn't dare to open his eyes.

Instead, Marik forcibly pressed himself closer, seeking out the very touches he had so recently pushed away. He knew he needed to explain, even to himself, exactly what he was feeling, but for just then, the touches were enough. Bakura had come back, and that was all that mattered. Marik blindly moved his head, searching for those lips – noses brushed before they finally came into contact, and Marik was met with bliss once more.

The kiss lasted longer this time, although he could feel Bakura's questions, could sense his worry in the way he was so hesitant. Marik pulled back far sooner than he wanted to, and finally allowed his eyes to open; as expected, they looked directly into Bakura's brown gaze.

There was a long silence before Bakura spoke. "Well. Care to explain why I come back expecting more insults, only to find you a blonde wreck on the floor?"

Marik let out a shaky laugh, the sound much too loud for the tension around them. The air wobbled as he tried to speak. "I ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Any of it. What I shouted at you, I mean."

Bakura merely lifted one white eyebrow, and so Marik struggled on, trying to explain. "I ... I didn't know what to think, Bakura. You really did take me by surprise, but I ... I can't say I wasn't expecting it. And I can't say I didn't enjoy it, either..."

The hands tightened around him, and Marik allowed his eyes to close, speaking into the silence and knowing that Bakura was catching his every breath. "I don't know how to cope with it. What you make me feel, what I think you feel for me, I can't deal with it because I can't deal with commitment. If someone needs me, I crumble. And if I need someone ... I can't handle it. I can't handle the responsibility, because I know I'm a mess and I'll only go and ruin everything again. That's why I pushed you away. Because I knew that I'd only mess everything up anyway...

"But then," Marik breathed, meeting Bakura's eyes and catching hold of his shoulders. "Then you actually left, and I realised what you meant. It took you actually walking out of the door for me to realise that I wanted you to come back, and I didn't care if it made me weak, I don't care, Bakura, because I just don't want you to leave again, I don't think I could cope..."

"I won't leave."

The words were spoken softly, but they were enough to pull Marik up short. Bakura's tone was as detached as ever, but his eyes were deep and calm, poised with emotion. Marik felt himself melting under that piercing stare, all the confused emotions unravelling until he was left with a serene calm. He knew this was right; he knew he needed Bakura. And Bakura needed him. It balanced. It worked.

Bakura spoke again, and his voice sent vibrations tingling down Marik's spine. "I know you're a mess, Marik. I've helped you out how many times now? You freak out over every tiny thing, and to be honest, I probably should have expected this reaction. I knew I had to be careful, but I just got fed up of waiting."

"You, running out of patience?" Marik even managed to lace his tone with a little bit of teasing. "You?"

Bakura growled softly, his arms momentarily tightening around Marik before they relaxed once more. "Yes, Marik. You have the innocuous ability to try even my patience, in the end."

"I suppose," Marik half-smiled. "It did take three years, though."

"And look how much you freaked out!" Bakura shook his head. "You are such a damn mess, you know that?"

"I know," Marik breathed, his body still shaking slightly. "Believe me, I know."

Bakura fell quiet at that, his arms tight around Marik, until eventually he moved again, sitting cross legged and pulling the Egyptian towards him. Marik gladly fell into his chest, his eyes sliding shut once more as the arms tightened around him again.

"You may be a mess," Bakura spoke conversationally into his ear, "But you're a mess I'm rather fond of. Mind if I stick around a while longer?"

Marik couldn't hold back a smile at those casual words. He turned in Bakura's grip, taking hold of his cheeks and leaning closer to press their lips together once more. This kiss was slow and sensual, hands roaming as tongues fought, and Marik crawled further onto Bakura's lap as they eventually parted for air. Bakura met his gaze, and there was a question in his eyes. Marik rested his forehead on Bakura's, his hands gripping tightly onto the lapels of Bakura's jacket, Bakura's own hands resting comfortably on Marik's hips.

Marik spoke softly, and the words were true. "I want you to stick around for a long, long time, Bakura. In fact, I don't think I ever want you to leave."

**I have a horrible feeling they are really, really out of character. I am sorry. I needed fluff. ^_^ Thanks for reading! - Jem**


End file.
